It's a big, round number

It’s a blog entry one half-century in the making!

Well, isn’t that dramatic?

I have been on this planet 50 years now, and this is an occasion for reflection. I remember turning 40. It was no big deal; in fact, I kinda liked it. For some reason, when I was younger, I thought my forties would be “my decade.” Gone was the baby face, the ineffectiveness, the immaturity. Largely gone, too, was the self-doubt and anxiety, replaced by a confidence in myself and my talents. (Which is not to say I was happy about my inability to sing or dance, or the annoying changes in my aging body). I was a little too intense as a teenager, a little too awkward in my 20s; and my 30s were the decade of change. In my 40s, I expected to come into my own, and that was mostly true.

So, now that I am officially on the other side of that, what now? I have a new shot glass, compliments of dear friends, that says “50 is the new 21.” Throughout the past few weeks, I have also been reminded that 50 is just a number. This is true, of course, but it is a big fucking number!

At 50, I am different. There is no denying it, and I really don’t want to. There are pros and cons, good changes and bad; some, downright evil. For the good, I feel good, sometimes I even feel groovy. I am happy. There is a lot of contentment in my life, mercifully free of a lot of regret. I feel I’ve grown into 50 pretty well. Sure, I feel I’ve left things undone, but this doesn’t seem to bother me as much as I expected. The anxieties of my younger years have changed and been replaced. My sons have grown into men. That’s something that concerned me greatly when I was younger, and now they are launched. It’s like those halcyon days of late summer, when it is time to pick the fruits of previous hard work. Gone is my marriage, which is a topic for another time, but the point now is the marriage obligations and duty, the highs and lows offered by that station are gone—favorably, at least in my mind. (It’s funny that I consider my marriage a success even though it is over). I am me, a ripened me—my potential filled as much as it is likely to be.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not ready to lay down and be chow for the posies! It’s more a fulfillment I feel.

The bad stuff doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would, but I do not want to pretend it doesn’t exist. 

I guess it all comes down to a series of questions:

Is it good to be 12 years old? Is it good to be 18? 21? 32? 40? 50? At the time I asked myself these questions, the answers were surprisingly consistent. There were pros and cons to each age. I appreciated the pros, far less the cons, but in the end it was life. And I’ve always been happy to be alive.

autumn

About a month ago that we had our first Cool Snap. (I am hesitant to call it a cold snap out of respect to folks that actually get cold weather. I need a blanket—big whoop). That was followed by some delicious weather; a mixed bag of hot, warm and cool days. Recently, Fall has fallen. The nights are cool and crisp, the sun sets early and it is not unusual to see a little mist in the morning. Heck, it even rained this morning! 

The fact another summer had slipped past was weighing on me when the joys of this season washed over me. Candles! Soft lighting, a fire in the fireplace. That chill in the air. Thoughts of the holidays come unbidden. True, I miss a lot of what summer brings to the garden, but the daffodils have been busy pushing themselves up. I often feel sorry for them, having been planted in Southern California. Each year, it seems, they break through the soil, hoping for a long bloom only to be scorched in a day or two—we always seem to get warm days just as the open. Maybe the sun hates the daffodils?

Candles are such a delight. When visitors drop by, finding me alone and surrounded by candle glow, they ask if I am expecting anyone. No, I reply, and smile. These candles burn for me. It’s nice when people share, though.

bittersweet

My youngest is on his way to Utah for seasonal work at a ski resort. He visited for several weeks between his gigs in Alaska and Utah. Over breakfast this morning, we talked about timing. He’s been anxious to get back to work, which is quite the change for him. He’s maturing. I told him that time off is like a half gallon of ice cream—a little bit is a real pleasure, but too much at a time is a problem. My guess is that after a long summer session in Alaska, a couple of weeks off are plenty. Of course, this varies from person to person, but I have definite opinions about vacations. It’s good that he felt it was too long in more than just his wallet.

For me, I am sad to see him go. I missed him while he was away. It was nice having him visit. But, like time off, having a houseguest can go on a little long. That, of course, varies from houseguest to houseguest.

Returning from LAX, I am strangely upbeat. The boy is off for another adventure and he’ll mature. It will be fun to find out how much when he comes back. 

For me, personally, I am very pleased to have my house back. I cheerfully set to some chores and it was a genuine delight to clean the kitchen and restock the fridge. My plants are being watered and laundry is spinning. As much as it was nice to have Kevin around, it’s invigorating to have my privacy back. This is my space.

ahhhhh

It happens every year about this time. It makes me smile every time.

I love summer. I love the long days. I love the heat. 

Every year about this time, I am caught off guard when the nighttime temperature drops, seeming suddenly. It happened just the other night. 

Another thing that creeps up on me is the short nightfall. I am accustomed to the long days of summer. Like the First Cool Night, the other night twilight crept up on me. I looked at the clock...wow. 

Perhaps my favorite thing about these events is that, in Southern California, both are followed by hot, gorgeous summer days. The message is the same each year: summer will end, so prepare yourself...but not yet.

wow, even more?

I am surprised to be writing another entry that may be construed as political, but it's been on my mind. 

Mr. Romney released his 2011 tax figures recently. He's been in the news for not releasing this info promptly. It turns out, he had an effective tax rate of 14.1%. That is less than his secretary. Mr. Obama released his 2011 info in April. His effective tax rate was 20.5%. That was less than his secretary, too. 

I suppose my take on this information is not typical. My response is: good for you, gentlemen! If Romney or Obama paid any extra money in taxes, just to appear to be one of lumpen-proletariat, my respect for them would drop considerably. Organizing your finances to take advantage of tax laws is not a crime; in fact, it is a virtue. (My opinion).

Enter: Warren Buffett. Mr. Buffett thinks he does not pay enough in taxes. Mr. Buffett's effective tax rate for 2010 was 11.06%. While you might think Mr. Buffett doesn't pay enough in taxes, I disagree. Mr. Buffett paid $6,923,494 in federal income taxes and I think that is plenty. Why should he pay more to the government than about 99.9997% of the rest of the population? I've noticed that Mr. Buffett hasn't suggested a figure that he thinks is more fair, nor has he thrown in a little more just to make him feel better about himself--not that he needs to, in my opinion. I hear he is very charitable, and a heck of a nice guy. I think he is savvy. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be giving a lot extra to the government either, even at his nosebleed-level income. Nope, Mr. Buffett is waiting for the laws to change, then he will comply, perhaps happily. 

Is each of these guys paying their fair share? I say yes. Why? Because that's the law.
     

woah

Gee, politics. I thought I had outgrown it. Seriously. Whenever I talk politics, I just seem to piss everyone off.

So why now? Well, Mr. Obama threw a rock that bounced off my house, as well as quite a few others’, us small businessmen and businesswomen. Yes, the famous, “You didn’t build that,” speech. This morning, I read the indignant commentary of the Republican convention. It seems that the Republicans have jumped on a bandwagon and the Dems are not at all happy about it. The shrillest commentary appears to be: “He was taken out of context!”

Was he? Now, I am no stranger to the idiocy that suffuses our ridiculous political process. As such, I figured I would take a look at the context from which these quotes were taken. To paraphrase, it looks like Mr. Obama was going for, “No man is an island.” Considering his audience at the time, teachers, I believe, it is understandable that Mr. Obama would be courting teachers and praising them for their effects on students and former students. 

But Mr. Obama didn’t stop there. No, he picked up that ball and rushed into new territory. Small businessmen and –women get their materials and ship their goods on roads built by others. Why did he bring this up? After that, he drops the bomb: “you didn’t build that.” Huh? This wasn’t a slip of the tongue. I don’t think I misunderstood his point. He hammered it home pretty effectively…I didn’t build that. He or she didn’t build that. We owe our success to others…apparently to teachers and road builders. The teachers, sure, in that warm and fuzzy way that I feel about my teachers, (that doesn’t quite translate to the California Teachers Association). But road builders? Isn’t that the government?

Judging from the way the Republican convention apparently progressed, I am not alone in noticing this. Now, it is no secret to any small businessman that when times are going well for his business, he is generally the envy of his neighbors. When times are good, owning your own business is a real joy. For me, it has been exciting and lucrative. Oh, but when times are tough, owning a business is ugly—damn ugly. I am responsible for the welfare of my employees and it is heart-rending when I had to make tough decisions. Is this a sore subject for me? Yes, both in good times and bad times. I hate hearing, You are so lucky, and I hate hearing, Wow, that really sucks.  

So, Mr. Obama sort of rubbed my nose in it when he said I didn’t build that. I owe my success to the teachers and the road builders. I do? I don’t remember the comfort of the road builders when I had to lay people off, when I had to kneel before bankers, when the recession threatened everything, including my house. The government may have helped me here and there, but Uncle Sam is no business partner of mine. If taking money from the government is what led to success, you’d think that people that took welfare would be a lot more successful. Right?

Oh, and because I can’t resist, I have to laugh at the moronic commentators that include government contracts with government loans and calling both handouts. Really? The contracts I worked for, and the loans I am repaying. I guess I don’t understand what handout means.

50 shades of finished

It has been an interesting run. I read all 3 books. I liked the second best. I am ambivalent about the overall experience. It was a good story, told poorly. Most of the excitement, for me, came from the shared experience of so many friends reading it simultaneously—and their shock at some of the racier ideas. Of course, I went to Catholic school, so that’s sort of like stacking the deck a bit. 

I do not want to rehash a lot of the usual reviews of this story, but true to my thoughts on romance, I can’t let the fairytale ending go. Yuck. And, of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that the heroine is an idiot. Well, maybe “idiot” is a little harsh, but I found myself sympathizing more with the evil dictator, control freak than with the “normal” girl. And lastly, I’m a guy that really gets into the willing suspension of disbelief. I have no problems with aliens chasing each other around with light sabers, Hobbits wandering the Shire, heck, even a Bahamian crab singing to a wee mermaid. Why can’t I believe in a ridiculously handsome, kinky, hung, 27 year old billionaire who hooks up with a multi-orgasmic virgin for a little light spanking?